What the dream, but vain rebelling,
If from earth we sought to flee?
’Tis our stored and ample dwelling—
’Tis from it the skies we see.
Wind and frost, and hour and season,
Land and water, sun and shade,
Work with these, as bids thy reason,
For they work thy toil to aid.
Sow thy seed, and reap in gladness!
Man himself is all a seed;